Falling
by denalilass90
Summary: The Inception team's point man and architect are falling for each other, but neither wants to admit the truth. What's really going on in Arthur and Ariadne's minds during and directly after the Inception job?
1. Chapter 1: Noticing

Arthur Hamilton noticed everything.

As point man, it was his duty to do so, and Arthur was nothing if not serious about his job. So perhaps he could be excused for noticing the way the new architect candidate's brightly-colored sweater hugged her trim frame, her small breasts. How a strand of her dark hair had escaped to curl across her high, intelligent forehead. How her eyes held such an intriguing combination of naiveté, curiosity, and wit.

But though he noticed, Arthur said nothing, preferring, as usual, to keep his thoughts to himself. Instead, he slipped the needle into her soft, smooth arm, turned on the PASIV device, and watched as those long-lashed eyes fluttered closed and she joined Cobb in his dream.

When she awoke, gasping, fighting for breath as the effects of whatever disaster she encountered in the dream coursed through her system, Arthur let himself take her by the arms to calm her. He noted, with a herculean effort at detachment, the effect those eyes had when trained solely on his, even as her fear ebbed and anger took its place. He listened as she berated Cobb, realizing that she had met Cobb's projection of Mal in the dream. He watched in silence as she stormed out of the warehouse, not really listening to Cobb as he insisted that she'd be back.

He doubted that she had noticed him at all.

* * *

Ariadne Gray was in love.

She was in love with the architecture of dreams, the way she could bend physics to her will, the sheer power of pure creation. Sleep was unnecessary; she spent half the night drawing fantastical layouts, mazes with constructions impossible in reality, buildings with hundreds of secret rooms and corridors. Several times she forgot to eat, and found herself stymied that the time had suddenly flown from morning to deepest night, engrossed as she was in her work.

But maybe, just maybe, Ariadne's fascination with dream architecture had a _tiny_ bit to do with the handsome, mysterious point man, with whom she spent a great deal of her dream-time. She couldn't help but notice how his impeccable three-piece suits hung so perfectly from his slim, muscular body. How a rare smile brought the light of humor into his serious, dark eyes.

But Ariadne's job as architect involved careful attention to detail, so perhaps she could be excused for noticing.

In any case, the point man affected such a calm, detached demeanor that Ariadne doubted he saw her as anything other than a young, inexperienced architect. So she held her tongue, focusing her energies on building dreamscapes, and worrying about Cobb's obvious psychological issues over his dead wife.

She told herself it didn't matter whether the point man noticed her or not.


	2. Chapter 2: The Best-Laid Plans

Arthur was uneasy when Cobb announced that the architect would accompany them into the dream. He already felt unsure that the inception would work at all, and now they were going to drag both a tourist and _her_ into a highly unstable, potentially dangerous dream. All his carefully laid plans had not accounted for the addition of someone who, if he had to admit it to himself, would be highly distracting to himself, and potentially Eames as well.

He'd noticed the "public relations man," as Eames sometimes jokingly called himself, making a few cheeky passes at the architect. Ariadne, to Arthur's relief – though he carefully chose not to dwell on why this had relieved him quite so much – had deflected these gracefully. But she seemed to enjoy the rascally Englishman's company, and Arthur noted how often her lovely laugh rang out when the two conversed.

_Jealousy is a useless emotion_, Arthur told himself sternly, and put the architect's face out of his mind, mentally running through his plan for the thousandth time as the team waited to board the plane.

Still, something was bound to go wrong.

* * *

Everything was falling apart.

Ariadne had chosen, of her own free will, to enter the dream. Someone had to be there who understood what Cobb was going through, how his continuing obsession over Mal had spilled over into his work and every other aspect of his life. But she had not been prepared for this; the chaos, the gunfire, and Saito laying there with his blood draining away as Cobb admitted that to die in _this _dream would not allow the dreamer to wake unharmed.

She fought for control. Her body wanted to shiver, to revolt at the images of carnage and the unwelcome information Cobb had given them, but Ariadne would not allow herself to appear weak to the men. She was already at a disadvantage – the youngest, the least experienced; the only female – and she refused to become their damsel-in-distress. Although, she suspected, Eames would probably enjoy that.

As had become all too common in the past few weeks, Ariadne glanced over at the point man. As long as he seemed in control, she felt safe. She deliberately ignored the implications of that thought as she continued to take stock of their situation. While Arthur had more than a few choice words for Cobb, he showed no fear, despite the change in his carefully-constructed plans.

_You're here to watch out for Cobb_, Ariadne told herself firmly, and turned away.


	3. Chapter 3: Quick, give me a kiss

For the first time in a long time, Arthur was unsure of what to do.

This job was turning out to be much more complex than even he had imagined, and while he continued to doubt that the inception was possible, a more pressing issue was getting the entire team out of this dream unharmed, and more particularly, mentally unscathed. Here on the second dream level, the projections were starting to notice the team members, and Arthur didn't know how best to distract them.

Speaking of distractions, Ariadne, sitting next to him in a slim skirt suit, hair twisted into an elegant chignon, was doing an excellent job of distracting the already-unsettled point man. Contrary to popular belief by the other men on the team – mostly Eames, of course – Arthur did have feelings. However, it was his choice whether to show them or not, and most often, he chose not to. On a job, they only got in the way… as they were doing right now.

When had he let himself fall for the lovely young architect?

For once in his life, Arthur Hamilton put thinking aside.

"Quick, give me a kiss."

_It's just to distract the projections_, he told himself, as he would tell her moments later. _It doesn't mean anything_.

But it did.

* * *

Ariadne hadn't even had time to register the point man's words before his lips were on hers.

_"Quick, give me a kiss_."

She forgot to think. She forgot to move. She forgot to breathe.

Before his words sank into her bemused mind, before she could even begin to respond, he was moving away, and she realized, with a sinking feeling, that the kiss had only been an attempt at diverting the attentions of the overly-interested projections. An attempt which didn't seem to be working very well.

"It was worth a shot," Arthur shrugged.

_It was just to distract the projections_, Ariadne told herself. _It didn't mean anything_.

But she couldn't ignore the part of her that wished it had.


	4. Chapter 4: After the Storm

Arthur stepped off the airplane feeling incredulous. Somehow, despite all the setbacks, despite Saito's excruciating foray into limbo, despite Cobb's issues with Mal, despite _everything_ – the inception had worked. Of course, it would take some time to know whether the idea had fully implanted, but at this point, he was optimistic, regardless of his normally skeptical nature.

The point man was trying very hard not to dwell on the architect, who always seemed to be tantalizingly at the edge of his vision as they walked through the airport, but he was quickly finding it impossible. As they moved through the lines at customs, he glanced over to see her staring purposefully straight ahead, her posture indicating both fatigue and tension simultaneously. Even from this distance, Arthur could see purple shadows ringing her eyes, and he wondered worriedly how she was holding up.

_I'm only concerned because she's a vital part of our team_, Arthur attempted to convince himself.

_You're in denial_, his more passionate nature whispered.

Arthur sighed.

* * *

Ariadne had rarely before felt this mentally drained. The combination of events that comprised the last few hours – which of course felt so much longer in the dream world – had exhausted her completely. Despite having been physically asleep for the entirety of the flight, all the architect wanted was to climb into a soft bed. And, preferably, not dream again for a long time.

Unbidden, her gaze wandered to the point man standing in an adjacent customs line. How the hell did he continue to look so impeccable after everything? Not even a single strand of hair was out of place.

_"Quick, give me a kiss…"_

Ariadne shook her head, as if the physical act could literally dislodge her thoughts. When had she let herself fall for Arthur? Surely she was mature enough not to read into the obviously staged kiss like some lovestruck schoolgirl. And in any case, an emotional attachment to the most emotionally detached member of the team should be the last thing on her mind, especially now that the job was completed. They'd go their separate ways, and Ariadne would probably never see the point man again.

Still, when her cell phone buzzed and she saw the message from Eames – _Drinks in an hour at the Radisson, darlings_ – she could not stop her heart from fluttering just a bit at the thought of seeing Arthur one more time.


	5. Chapter 5: Not So Secret

Arthur had been sitting at the bar for nearly three-quarters of an hour, nursing his second gin and tonic, by the time Eames strolled in.

"Looking a bit gloomy, darling, considering we've just come into a considerable amount of money," Eames remarked cheerily, plopping himself down beside the point man and ordering a double scotch on the rocks.

Ariadne chose that exact moment to enter the room. Despite her unassuming manner, Arthur's eyes were immediately drawn to her. It was amazing, the logical part of his brain noted distantly, how she somehow managed to pull his gaze like a magnet.

"Ah," Eames said. "I see."

_Damn it,_ Arthur thought.

* * *

Ariadne noticed the point man looking at her as she came into the hotel bar, but the moment their eyes met, he quickly glanced away. He said something, rather curtly, she thought, to Eames, who merely laughed.

"What did you think of your first job, love?" the forger asked as she slid into a seat.

"Terrifying," she replied truthfully.

Eames grinned. "But you'd do it again in a heartbeat, right?"

"With Mal gone, absolutely," Ariadne said. She meant it, but she also couldn't help toying with the golden chess piece in her pocket. _So this is what it's like to question reality_, she thought wryly.

"Well, you deserve a drink after today," Eames stated. "What'll it be?"

"Whiskey, please."

"Oh ho, a real woman," Eames said comically. Despite her exhaustion, Ariadne laughed.

As Ariadne's drink arrived, Yusuf appeared, completing the small group. Ariadne knew that Cobb wouldn't show – he was surely at home, reveling in his children. The thought made her smile, for in the short time they'd worked together, the architect had cultivated a warm sisterly affection for the team's sandy-haired leader. She hoped that Saito's contacts were as good as he claimed, and that the Cobb family would never again be separated so tragically.

Yusuf looked as tired as Ariadne felt, but was as good-natured as ever, a contented look on his open, friendly face. The chemist ordered a Guinness and lifted his glass to propose a toast.

"To a successful day," Yusuf smiled.

Ariadne raised her own glass and, quite against her will, her gaze slid to Arthur, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. Blushing slightly, Ariadne looked away quickly and took a drink of her whiskey.

But not before Eames noticed. He looked pointedly at her and raised an eyebrow.

_Damn it_, Ariadne thought.


	6. Chapter 6: Nightfall

Three drinks and several hours later, Arthur was finding it more and more difficult not to stare at the architect. Her cheeks were flushed from the double shot of fine bourbon whiskey Eames had ordered for her, and the glass of red wine that followed, and while she still looked fatigued, she seemed softer, more relaxed as the alcohol flooded her system.

Yusuf had succumbed to the effects of three pints of craft beer and exhaustion, and was snoring gently, his dark head pillowed on his arm. But Eames seemed more awake than ever – currently he was flirting with the voluptuous blond bartender, who seemed enchanted with the cheeky English forger. Saito had even stopped by for a few minutes to congratulate them, and to tell them that he'd reserved the hotel's largest suite for the team members, sans Cobb, for the night.

For what seemed like the thousandth time that evening, the point man's eyes drifted over to Ariadne – _and why shouldn't I look? _his tipsy brain insisted – and found her staring right back. Her already-stained cheeks flushed redder, but she gave him a small smile before turning away.

Eames interrupted his thoughts, throwing an arm around him and patting Yusuf's slumbering head. "I'm off, darlings, to drag this sleeping beauty to bed."

"What about the bartender?" Arthur wondered with a wicked lift of his eyebrow.

"Let's just say she knows how to find me." Eames winked at the blonde, who blew him a kiss.

Arthur, shaking his head in amusement, helped Eames rouse Yusuf into a semblance of wakefulness. Together, they managed to haul the chemist to his feet and sling his arm around Eames's neck.

"I'm fine," Yusuf mumbled sleepily, stumbling a bit as he attempted to stand upright.

"Of course you are, love," Eames soothed him, grinning. He beckoned to Ariadne. "Surely you'll give me a kiss goodnight, darling?"

Arthur, watching Ariadne rise from her chair, noticed her sway slightly, but she quickly righted herself and came over to hug Eames. She kissed the forger on the cheek and he looked pointedly at Arthur with a devilish smirk. _Bastard_.

Then they were off, Eames practically dragging a still-half-asleep Yusuf out to the elevator, and there she was, standing right in front of him and looking at him expectantly, like she wanted something from him.

God, he hoped she wanted something from him.

* * *

Ariadne considered her next move as carefully as a chess player. Which was appropriate, she thought, amused, fingering the reassuring weight of the bishop totem in her pocket.

Eames and Yusuf had retired to what promised to be an extremely luxurious suite, and now Ariadne was alone with the point man. And she was feeling _very_ tipsy. _And what a lovely feeling indeed_, she thought, enjoying the dual sensations of lightness in her head and the slight heaviness of her limbs. For now, any residual terror from the inception job had disappeared, though she knew it would probably return as soon as she fell asleep.

Arthur was right in front of her, and really, he was quite delicious in his suit – but he looked better this way, she thought, with his jacket discarded and his shirtsleeves rolled above his elbows. The twin effects of alcohol and fatigue were causing her usually-sharp mind to wander. Right now, it was speculating on what the immaculate point man would do if she kissed him in the middle of this busy hotel bar.

All of a sudden, logic kicked back in. _Bad idea, Ariadne_, she told herself harshly.

She started to turn away – to sit back down or to leave, she wasn't sure – when Arthur said her name: "Ariadne."

"Yes?"

He hesitated, and she noted yet again how completely unreadable those velvet brown eyes were. What was he thinking – _really_ thinking?

"Can I… can I walk you to the suite?"

"Oh. Of course," Ariadne replied, inwardly sighing. She had hoped for something a bit more romantic than what was essentially a suggestion that she needed to sleep.

She grabbed her purse from where it had been hanging on the edge of a chair, and turned to find the point man waiting expectantly, arm crooked as if he meant to escort her. Ariadne giggled a little as she threaded her arm through his.

"How very gallant of you."

He smiled, but said nothing, and they walked in companionable silence to the elevator. When they stepped off onto the seventeenth floor, Arthur pulled the room key that Saito had given him from his pocket and opened the heavy, oak-paneled suite door.

Ariadne stepped inside. Even in the dim light, she could see how sumptuous the suite was – thick carpet, elegant furniture with intricately carved detail, expensive-looking artwork on the walls. Thankfully, it looked nothing like the hotel room she had designed for their use in the inception job's second layer.

Yusuf was passed out on a large, oversized sofa, a blanket thrown unceremoniously over his prone form, and through one of two open doors, she could see Eames reclining in bed. He was not yet asleep, and sat up at their entrance.

"You've got a room to yourself, darling," he said quietly to Ariadne, gesturing to the right, where the second door opened into a single chamber. "There are two beds in here, so Arthur and I will have a sleepover."

Ariadne smiled and looked up at the point man, who rolled his eyes. This time, she thought, she _could_ read his expression, for it clearly displayed exasperation, and a touch of mild amusement, at the forger's lame joke.

As she pulled her door to, shed her outer clothing, and climbed into the soft, white bed, Ariadne had a disquieting idea: Maybe she could never read Arthur's eyes when he looked at her, because his feelings for her were nonexistent.

It wasn't a restful thought, but exhaustion took over and within moments, the architect was asleep.


	7. Chapter 7: Falling

Arthur lay awake in the silent dark, staring at the ceiling. Despite fatigue, he found that the longer he worked in dreamscapes, the harder it was to fall asleep. His mind simply wouldn't shut off, and this was especially true tonight, after the most stressful job he'd ever worked.

He envied Yusuf and Eames, slumbering heavily and dreamlessly. How could they still sleep, after everything? But of course, while the job may have preyed on their minds just as it did his, they didn't have additional insomnia caused by the thought of a small, dark-haired architect sleeping peacefully on the other side of the wall.

The bedside clock's glowing numbers told him that it was nearly three in the morning. At this hour, the entire hotel was swathed in a silence so profound that every tiny noise – the usual creaks and groans heard nightly in an older building, the footsteps of a fellow insomniac in the room above, the soft tap of a moth at the window – could be heard clearly.

The silence was abruptly broken by a soft moan coming from the adjacent room and Arthur sat up, startled. As he listened carefully, he could hear the sound of rustled sheets, and then a low whimper.

Ariadne was dreaming, and judging by the sound, it was not a pleasant one.

Arthur knew quite well how awful such nightmares could be, having suffered several himself after his first few forays into shared dreaming. That was before he stopped being able to dream naturally at all, and he still wasn't sure what was best – the absence of all dreams, even pleasant ones, or the presence of dreams interspersed with night terrors.

Another pitiful sob echoed through the walls, and, unthinking, Arthur rolled out of bed. He pulled on a t-shirt and crept to the architect's door, gently pushing it open and stepping silently inside.

The room was dominated by a giant four-poster bed, draped with lace curtains and covered in a puffy white duvet. Curled up in the exact center, tangled dark hair contrasting starkly with the pale pillows, was Ariadne. Small sounds of distress were issuing from her throat, and she was shaking slightly, but clearly asleep.

Arthur didn't seem to be in control of his own feet, which carried him to the edge of the bed.

"Ariadne," he whispered.

Her only response was to curl up tighter.

Arthur debated whether or not to wake her, but a particularly pathetic cry made up his mind. He reached out and took her shoulder – which was distractingly bare, except for a thin tank top – and shook her gently.

"Ariadne, wake up!"

* * *

Ariadne was falling.

She was in Limbo again, at the top of a hundred-story tall building, and unlike last time, her bullet had strayed off target and missed Mal's heart. Cobb's beautiful, imposing – and dead – wife had come after her, teeth bared, and Ariadne had been pushed off of the balcony and into thin air.

She had time for one cry before the wind snatched the breath from her lungs. Last time, she hadn't been afraid, but now – now terror filled every cell of her body.

She was accelerating faster and faster, spinning wildly out of control, hands grasping as if there was something she could seize to slow her fall. With every excruciating millisecond that passed, she was getting closer and closer to her death on the unforgiving concrete below, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop herself.

Time seemed to slow as she neared the end.

Ten stories.

Five stories. Four. Three. Two. One…

Ariadne awoke, gasping.


End file.
